


world without end

by robokittens



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 00:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17415869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robokittens/pseuds/robokittens
Summary: "Oh, come on," Richard says. "How weird can it be?"Which — okay, yes, it's Jared; it could be pretty weird. But, on the flip side: it's Jared. Jared, who grew up in some sort of dystopian Dickens novel, whose friends and hobbies both skew alarmingly geriatric, who's some sort of business savant that constantly finds himself in unsavory situations. What could he have to confess that'sweirder than anything he's already told everyone?"I'm a vampire," Jared says, and Richard laughs.





	world without end

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penhales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penhales/gifts).



> for penhales!!! enjoy!!!
> 
> thanks to su for running this :)

"I wish this could last forever," Richard says. 

Jared grasps at his wrist, just briefly, fingers on Richard's pulse. "Oh Richard," he says. "Nothing lasts forever."

 

—

 

Jared just — disappears sometimes. It takes Richard an embarrassingly long time to notice. Like — really embarrassing. Like — until after they've already started being — you know, _intimate_. Until after Richard has moved into Jared's apartment in all but name-on-the-lease. 

At first it's like, you know, fine, whatever. Richard is … a lot; he's under no delusion that he's easy to handle. He's had roommates before (perpetually; obviously) but he's never lived with a _partner_. And that's … a whole different thing. So if sometimes Jared needs to just go and do his thing and not tell Richard where he's going or when he'll be back, that's like. Fine.

But after a few months of this Richard notices. It's not impacting Jared's job performance or anything; Pied Piper is running almost alarmingly smoothly. It's going to blow up in Richard's face sooner or later; it always does. But for now … for now they've got, like, an entire internet. They have clients. They have _subscribers_ , and more every day.

And every day, Monday through Friday, Jared is in the office, cheerful and helpful and _essential_ as ever. Except sometimes he takes half-days, and sometimes he's blocked off as unavailable on their shared Google calendar for days at a time, and sometimes he's just — gone.

And Richard has no idea. None. Where he's going.

"Hey," he says one day. Jared was gone over the weekend — just gone, vanished, pre-prepared meals for Richard stacked and labelled helpfully in the fridge. "You know this is, like … your apartment. If you —"

"Oh, no!" Jared says, far too quickly for Richard to even finish his sentence. They'd eaten dinner and now they're sitting in the living room, Jared beating Richard handily at Scrabble. It's a Tuesday. He'd shown up at the office at 10:30 am on Monday, perfectly pressed, apologizing for being late so sincerely that Richard hadn't even thought to question it. He wasn't even the latest person there, not by a long shot.

"This is your home, Richard," he says. Quiet, insistent. "Please, if I've ever done anything to make you feel unwelcome —"

It's Richard who cuts him off this time. "No. No. It's — I don't want to —" He sighs. "If you need space, you can just … I can peace out. It's fine! I really don't — like, I can stay at the office, or with Big Head, or — It's. Jared. It's fine. Just tell me."

"It means a lot to me that you let me have my little secrets," Jared says. His smile is so enigmatic, his tone so fond, that Richard can't even protest. The smile stays on his face as he places letters carefully onto the board: S H R I K E off of Richard's H O T. Double word score. 26 points.

 

—

 

The update is set to go out on Thursday, so Jared can't — _can't_ — go home early Tuesday afternoon. Richard needs him, is reduced to literal begging in the office's kitchenette. Things never go as smoothly with Jared gone, and this — this _needs_ to go smoothly.

"I promise," Jared says. "I'll be home tonight. It's just a few hours." He's touching Richard, like he almost never does at the office; not anything inappropriate, just his fingertips on Richard's shoulder. But Richard can feel the burn of it through his sweater. There's something elemental in Jared's touch, some sort of light in his eyes that's more than just earnestness as he swears to Richard.

Richard can feel the whine building in his throat, bites his lip to cut it off before it escapes. He nods, instead. "If — if you'll be back tomorrow."

"Of course!" 

"Okay." Richard's voice is barely more than a whisper. When Jared's hand moves from his shoulder, when Jared leaves the room, he feels — cold.

He feels it for the rest of the afternoon, a tangible absence. Which is … ridiculous. Obviously. But it sits on his shoulder all through the afternoon, like something physical, and hangs around his neck when he goes for a post-work smoothie because he feels like maybe he just needs some nutrients or something.

The smoothie is gross, and doesn't make him feel better. And it ruins his appetite for dinner.

When Jared walks into the apartment a little past nine, Richard's sitting on the sofa. _The Good Place_ is on the TV, but he's not actually watching it. The door opens; he sits up a little straighter, expectantly.

"Hey," he says. Casual, super casual. He can hear Jared taking off his coat, hanging it on the hook by the front door, can hear him slipping off his shoes.

Jared sits on the sofa, next to him but not quite touching. It takes a moment — it always takes a moment — but Richard waits it out. Slowly, Jared lets himself relax, lets himself breathe deeply and fold in to lean on Richard's shoulder. He's so _warm_.

Richard gives it another minute before he says anything. He's going to ease into it, keep it subtle, real sneaky, just kind of lead Jared around to telling him what he wants to know without Richard even asking.

"Where'd you go?" he asks, words tumbling out of his mouth before he can help himself. He can feel Jared tense up, but he doesn't pull away so Richard keeps talking. "This afternoon? And — always. Jared. Where?"

Jared laughs, something a little sad to it, and Richard can almost hear him deflecting before he starts.

He nudges Jared with his shoulder, not hard enough to dislodge him, just enough to make himself _felt_. "C'mon," he wheedles. "You can tell me. You can — you can tell me _anything_ , you know that, right?"

It's a little more heartfelt than he means to come across, but it's — it's true. He feels safe with Jared, fuck, he _hopes_ that Jared feels —

"You wouldn't believe me," Jared says. He's still slumped against Richard's side, his posture screaming trust and comfort even as his words don't.

"Oh, come on," Richard says. "How weird can it be?"

Which — okay, yes, it's Jared; it could be pretty weird. But, on the flip side: it's Jared. Jared, who grew up in some sort of dystopian Dickens novel, whose friends and hobbies both skew alarmingly geriatric, who's some sort of business savant that constantly finds himself in unsavory situations. What could he have to confess that's _weirder than anything he's already told everyone_?

"I'm a vampire," Jared says, and Richard laughs.

Jared doesn't say anything, and Richard exhales sharply, a black mood settling quickly over him. It's not like Jared doesn't have the right to keep secrets — of course he does; Richard is hardly going to demand that Jared tell him everything — but the fact that Jared doesn't _want_ to tell him still hurts, a little.

"Whatever," he says. "It's fine. I'm going to bed."

He shakes Jared off and stands up. He can hear Jared call after him, but — whatever. If Jared wants to find him, wants to _talk_ , he knows where he'll be.

 

—

 

When Richard wakes up, Jared is gone — did he even come to bed? Richard has no idea; he slept hard and dreamless and woke up still kind of angry, but dazedly so. He brushes his teeth and showers and shrugs on a bathrobe (an affectation of Jared's that he never would have expected to adopt, but they're actually really comfortable) and pads to the kitchen to see if he can scrounge up anything for breakfast.

There's a bowl of overnights oats in the fridge. Jared's stuck a post-it to the top, with _Good morning!_ in his perfect handwriting, a little smiley face. The smiley face has fangs.

 

—

 

The update goes … fine. The push is like an hour late but other than that everything goes smoothly; there's a moment where it looks like they'll be putting out fires but in the grand scheme of Pied Piper — they're not even _literal_ fires, so.

Jared is somehow constantly in Richard's presence without ever quite directly engaging with him. Richard feels like he's spending the whole day just _looking_ at Jared; it's a totally different feeling than when they first got together, but the consequences are the same. (Gilfoyle, who still hasn't overtly acknowledged that Richard and Jared are not only involved but in fact living together, calls him a "deranged stalker.")

But there's something … something. About it. About the way Jared is constantly near him; about the way Jared won't look at him; about the way that Richard is terrifyingly, electrically _aware_ of him.

He finally manages to catch Jared on the floor — physically, a hand on Jared's arm stopping him from going past. There are dozens of coders who probably aren't paying attention to them but might be. "Hey," he says, quietly, and Jared looks at him wide-eyed. "Let's talk, okay? Tonight."

"Tonight," Jared says, and then he's just — gone.

 

—

 

Jared makes dinner: pizza, from scratch, with a gluten-free crust and more spinach than Richard would ever choose to put on anything. It is, despite that, unsurprisingly good. Jared eats, too; Richard watches carefully as he makes his way through one slice, then another, as he drinks a glass of low-alcohol wine.

"You eat food," he says, and feels stupid immediately. "I mean — regular food. Right now. You're doing it."

"There are a lot of myths," Jared says, and takes another bite of pizza. His teeth tighten around the tines of his fork; they're not any more sharp or anything than Richard's ever noticed before. 

And that's — Richard would have _noticed_ , right? Like, okay, he can be kind of self-involved, but … if he was kissing someone with fangs … he'd have _noticed_.

Right?

"Will you drink my blood?"

He winces the second the words are out of his mouth, more than winces, physically recoils like he can separate himself from the person who actually uttered that.

The sound of Jared's silverware being placed gently down on the table sounds impossibly loud, echoes off the kitchen walls and through the whole condo. Jared just — _looks_ at him, intense and almost … almost _hungry_. Or thirsty, maybe, Richard thinks, suddenly delirious.

"Richard," Jared says, slowly, solemnly. "I would love to."

 

—

 

Richard is shaking and Jared hasn't even touched him yet. His hands feel heavy where they're balled into white-knuckled fists on his knees; his back is tense. It's not even an unfamiliar situation — this is hardly the first time he's sat on this bed, shirt off, Jared beaming at him.

But there's — there's something _different_ in Jared's gaze, now. Something … else, something Richard's never seen before, something he can't name.

No. No. That's a fucking lie. He can name it. He can — god, he feels like what's-her-face, the hot gay chick from _Twilight_. Except less hot. Maybe about as gay. Okay, that's — that's really not the point here.

The point is, Jared is a vampire. The point is, Jared is going to drink his blood.

"Richard," Jared says, voice all low, and Richard isn't sure if Jared is using some sort of vampire power on him (does Jared have vampire powers?) or if there's just something about the way Jared is looking at him that's so heady, so all-consuming … If Jared doesn't hurry up, he's going to have to suck Richard's blood out through his dick, because that's where it's all heading.

Richard clears his throat. He means to say something — _hey_ , probably, something noncommittal — but all that comes out is a sort of strangled noise. He clears his throat again, but doesn't try for words this time.

Jared sits next to him on the bed. Not quite touching, not that close, but — close. He reaches out, runs his fingers down the side of Richard's neck, over the veins there. Richard shivers. Jared's hands are — so big, so warm and solid where they press against him. 

Maybe Jared is — if this is true, if this is real, then Jared is a predator. This could really fuck him up. But … Richard can't feel unsafe, not here, not like this. His eyes slip shut.

Still, there's a big of a tremble to his voice when he says, "Is this going to hurt?"

_Am I going to die?_ he thinks, but — no. There's no way. Jared would never —

"Not for long," Jared says. He leans in, nuzzles at Richard's shoulder, inhales deeply. Richard can feel his breath (his breath, his warm breath, he's definitely _breathing_ , it's not like he's _dead_ ).

And it — it doesn't hurt, not at first. Not when Jared's mouth opens over his shoulder, kisses his way up to his jawline and then back down to his jugular.

"Relax," Jared whispers. Richard can feel the shape of Jared's lips against his neck. Jared kisses the thin skin again, and then he _bites_.

Oh, Richard thinks. Maybe — maybe Jared _does_ have fangs.

There's motion at the edge of his peripheral vision. Or — or maybe not motion, maybe light, maybe color, maybe darkness closing in — when had Richard opened his eyes? _Are_ his eyes open? He's not even sure if he's upright, suddenly; he's not sure of _anything_ except the heat of Jared's mouth and the thrum of his blood in his veins.

He's so warm. Too warm, maybe; he's burning up, he can feel his fingertips turning to ash where they're pressed against his thighs. There's a fire in his throat, in his neck, where Jared's mouth is pressed against his skin …

Jared's hands on his shoulders are so cold when they press him down onto the bed. Jared's body is so cold when he curls up against him. Or — or maybe Richard is cold; maybe Jared's flush, warm, _human_ where he wraps around Richard. Or maybe those are the blankets Jared is dragging over him. Richard can't keep his eyes open. He can't —

"Shh," Jared says. Richard hadn't realized he'd said anything. Jared's voice is so warm. "Just relax."

_Okay_ , Richard thinks. _I'll do whatever you say_ , he thinks, but he can't say it, because he's already asleep.

 

—

 

When Richard wakes up, his head hurts. He can smell coffee and — bacon, maybe? Something coming from the kitchen. Jared is making breakfast. He manages to crack one eye open, then the other; his head hurts worse with each consecutive movement.

There's a glass of water and a bottle of Advil on the nightstand, although it takes a minute or two for Richard to be able to sit up steadily enough to swallow. His throat hurts, too. At least his body managed to wait until _after_ the new update to get sick, he thinks.

He grabs his bathrobe off the hook and shrugs it on over his pajamas, pads barefoot into the kitchen. It's barely past 7; they should have time to eat and still make it in to the office — not as early as Jared likes to get there, maybe, but technically plenty of time.

Jared's standing at the stove, frying eggs; he doesn't flinch when Richard comes up behind him, wraps his arms around his waist and rests his head against Jared's shoulder blades.

"I feel like shit," he croaks.

"I'm sorry about that," Jared says, and his voice is so _sincere_ that all at once Richard remembers.

He lets go of Jared, staggers backward a little. "That — did that — did you —"

Jared carefully sets the spatula town on the spoon rest. He turns around, and his smile is so big and honest and dorky and _normal_ that Richard's heart skips a beat. Which is — it's a good thing, he thinks, an emotion he's not quite ready to put a name to. Not blood loss, anyway.

"Why don't you sit down," Jared says. "I've got to get some protein in you, to make up for last night!"

Richard pours himself a cup of coffee and a glass of water, gulps half the latter. Takes a sip of the former. Sits down at the kitchen table, a little dizzy.

"Am I — uh —" He laughs, self-conscious; there's no good way to ask this. No way that won't make him sound … stupid at best, crazy at worst. Jared puts a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him and cocks his head inquisitively, eyes bright.

"Am I a vampire now?" Richard asks, quiet, his mouth doing its best to curl in on itself and not even let him ask the question.

There's something a little sad in Jared's eyes as he sits down across from Richard, his own plate in front of him. "Oh — no," he says, sounding almost startled. "No, you're not." 

"I, uh, I guess I still have to go to work then, huh?"

It takes a moment, but Jared smiles at him. "I guess so," he says. "I'm sorry. I should have waited for the weekend, but oh, you _asked_ , and —"

Whatever he's about to say is interrupted by Richard's yawn. "Sorry," he says, and takes a sip of coffee just on the edge of too big. It's hot, and his throat is still tender; he winces. "But — hey, I'm the boss, right? Maybe I can just say we take the day off, right? Early weekend?"

"It would be nice," Jared says, in a tone that clearly implies that having a flying pony would also be nice.

"I mean, we could. Just, you know — coffee, breakfast. It's a nice start to the day. I wish this could last forever," Richard says. It's romantic, in his head, but when he meets Jared's eyes, Jared looks — it's not sad. Not quite that. Lonely, maybe, except — 

Jared reaches across the table and takes Richard's hands in his own. His long fingers press against the spot where Richard's blood pulses in his wrist. "Oh Richard," he says. He doesn't _sound_ sad. There's something almost hopeful in his tone, something fond, maybe — maybe loving. "Nothing lasts forever."


End file.
